


The Best Kind of Friends

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Manhandling, Overstimulation, Past Relationship(s), Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Mitch comes home earlier than expected and walks in on Scott having some fun with his boyfriends.





	The Best Kind of Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Scott/Mark/Mason + Mitch. Title from In The Middle by dodie.

_It could be weird but I think I'm into it_  
_You know I'm one for the overly passionate_  
_I like you, and I loved him_  
_We could all be the best kind of friends_

  


Mitch opens the door to the sound of soft moans, and it takes a moment for the meaning to register. He sets down his bag and his jacket and follows the noises into the living room, and he knows, he _knows_ it’s not porn, but it doesn’t lessen the shock when he walks around the corner and sees Scott and Mark tangled together on the couch, kissing like they’re drowning in each other. Mason’s there too, standing at the arm of the couch with his fingers twisted in Scott’s hair, and he’s the only one with any clothes on, jeans with the fly undone and hanging open at his waist.

It’s one thing to know—of course Mitch knew, they weren’t subtle about the nature of their relationship—but quite another thing to see it. Mitch loses his breath and he thinks he should probably make a quiet exit, escape downstairs to his bedroom or maybe just leave the house entirely. They haven’t noticed him, and they clearly weren’t expecting him to come home so soon. But he can’t make himself turn away from the sight of them, all three of them with their mismatched skin tones and firm muscles on display.

Scott claws at Mark’s back, digging in his fingernails between Mark’s shoulder blades, and Mitch shivers, feeling it like a phantom of Scott’s hand against his own back, sense-memory of Scott raising faint welts on his skin. Mitch watches them turn, watches Mark slide off Scott to his knees on the floor, and Mason leans over to kiss Scott even as he reaches for Mark.

Mark’s hands roam across Scott’s bare chest and Mitch’s fingers twitch automatically, wanting to follow their meandering path. The moment Mark takes his cock into his mouth, Scott breaks away from Mason to gasp, and his delirious gaze lands right on Mitch, as if drawn by a magnet. Their eyes lock and Mitch is still frozen in place, unsure what his face is showing. He’s not even sure how he feels, witnessing this.

In the space of two breaths, Mason bites Scott’s ear and then makes his way across the room to Mitch, stepping neatly between him and the two on the couch, blocking his gaze. Mitch wonders if that was intentional. It breaks him out of his stunned immobility, at least.

“I’m sorry, I’ll go,” he says under his breath. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His eyes flick downward to the open fly of Mason’s jeans. His cheeks warm.

“Do you wanna go?” Mason asks.

Mitch hesitates for entirely too long, and that’s answer enough. Mason tucks a finger beneath Mitch’s chin, tilting his head up for a deeply sensual kiss, and the rough scratch of his beard reminds Mitch of kissing Scott, but this is different, Mason is different. He’s more controlled than Scott ever is, more contained. Softer, somehow, though no less demanding, and Mitch opens for him automatically.

Mason’s other hand curls around the small of Mitch’s back and pulls him fully into the living room. He turns, pushing Mitch ahead of him, and Mitch stumbles to a halt a few feet away from the couch, where Scott’s sprawled and panting, fist clenched around a handful of throw pillow. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares up at Mitch; he almost looks drunk, though it’s not even noon. Mason fits himself snugly behind Mitch, holding him steady by his hips, and nibbles at Mitch’s ear.

“Yeah?” he asks. It’s too vague a question to require a real response, so Mitch just nods dazedly. He can’t tear his eyes away from Mark’s bobbing head, the clench of Scott’s fingers in his hair, and he wants desperately to be in Mark’s place. He wants to feel the weight of Scott’s cock on his tongue, wants to feel the twist of Scott’s fingers. After a moment, Mason chuckles softly. His hands slide up under Mitch’s shirt, lifting up to expose his torso. He bites Mitch’s ear again, harder this time, and says, “Then take off your clothes.”

Mitch lifts his arms and lets Mason strip the shirt off over his head. Mason turns him around before he can see Scott’s reaction, takes Mitch’s face in both of his hands and kisses him deeply. Mitch isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to touch. His fingers flutter like nervous butterflies before finally resting at the bend of Mason’s arms, gently tracing the crease of his elbows.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come if you don’t—” Scott groans from behind them.

Mitch tries to turn, an automatic response to the nickname even though he knows it’s not directed at him, but Mason holds him still another moment longer. His kisses drive the thoughts from Mitch’s mind, leaving him breathless and winded and even more dazed than before. He’s caught by Mason’s intense stare, and though he can hear Scott and Mark moving around behind him, his desire to look is forgotten.

Until Mason’s gaze shifts and he abandons Mitch without another word, sliding past him with a gentle brush of his hand across Mitch’s hip. Mitch lets out a pathetic little whine and turns on his heel, and Scott laughs softly.

“I know that feels,” he says.

“What?” Mitch breathes.

Mark’s back on the couch, kneeling beside Scott, and Mason’s stroking his back and nuzzling the side of his neck. He’s murmuring things that Mitch can’t hear, and with his free hand he’s digging into his pocket. He passes a condom to Scott without looking and Scott takes it without a word.

Scott’s sprawled on the couch with his legs spread wide and his hair a mess, and he’s squeezing his cock idly as he watches Mark and Mason together. Mitch sees a quick flash of pink tongue as Scott wets his lips. He licks his own lips in response.

How is it decided, he wonders, who fucks whom? He’s never asked Scott. Never actually thought about the logistics of their relationship. How does no one feel left out? Is Mitch an observer here, or did Mason intend for him to participate? Is he allowed to touch Scott, to kiss him?

“Take off your pants,” Scott murmurs. He’s looking at Mark and Mason, still, but Mitch’s hands respond immediately to his tone and start working at his fly. He stops himself with his jeans sliding down his hips, because Scott probably wasn’t talking to him.

But then Scott drags his gaze away from the couple and meets Mitch’s eyes, and the powerful intensity Mitch felt from Mason’s stare is mirrored in Scott’s icy blues, but it’s familiar with Scott. Mitch lets go of the tension and uncertainty and lets his pants fall to his ankles.

“I want you naked,” Scott tells him.

Mitch toes off his shoes and kicks the tangled pile of clothes to the side, then hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs. Before he can push them down, he’s distracted by Mark moaning loudly, and he looks over to see Mason opening him up with one hand and his mouth around Mark’s cock. Mark’s lying down now, his head thrown back against the arm of the sofa, and the tendons in his neck are standing out in sharp relief. He rests his foot on Mason’s shoulder. His toes are curled.

“Mitchy,” Scott says. “Naked.”

Mitch takes off his undies and kicks them in the general direction of his pants and stands before Scott, fully naked. On display. Scott licks his lips again, more slowly this time, more deliberately, and Mitch is thrilled to have his attention, though he doesn’t know what to do with it. He waits for instruction with his hands at his sides and his cock aching to be touched.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, daddy, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” Mark groans, and Mitch and Scott both whip their heads to the side to look at him. His hands are clenched tightly around the edge of the couch and Mitch can see the muscles in his torso tensing as he tries not to thrust his hips. His body is so smooth and tan and firm that Mitch’s mouth actually waters. He wants Mark, he wants to be part of this.

“Not yet, baby,” Mason says, at the same time Scott mutters, “Do it, baby, do it,” and Mitch looks back and forth between them, intensely curious to see what Mark will do. He knows which voice he’d obey, if he were in Mark’s position, and it shocks him. Scott’s _always_ had a hold over him, a power Mitch could never resist, even before he knew how to wield it, but in this moment, Mason is so effortlessly in control, there’s no question in Mitch’s mind.

Sure enough, Mark shudders and groans again and pants harshly as Mason pulls away from him, walking himself back from the edge as best he can. As soon as the space is vacated, Scott crawls over him and catches his mouth in a desperate, wet kiss. He keeps his hips lifted, maintains a careful few inches between their bodies, between Mark’s leaking cock and his own. He put the condom on while Mitch wasn’t watching.

“Wait for Scotty,” Mason says as he pushes to his feet, ruffling Mark’s hair before he leaves them to it.

He comes back to Mitch and a knot squeezing Mitch’s gut releases. Scott would’ve stalked over, would’ve used his body to intimidate, to overwhelm. He depends on the physical posturing and the roughness of his voice to exert his dominance, and it works, but Mason is different. He’s calm and soft and gentle, and there’s the knowing set of his lips and the intensity in his eyes that makes Mitch’s insides melt.

He circles around Mitch, blatantly appraising his naked body, and Mitch holds still for him, waiting, following Mason with quick turns of his head but not moving the rest of his body.

Mason finally settles into place at Mitch’s back, as they’d been standing before. He hooks his chin over Mitch’s shoulder, firmly enough that his beard doesn’t tickle, and asks, “Have you ever fucked him?”

Mitch swallows and shakes his head, strangely ashamed to admit that he hasn’t. He considers himself pretty adventurous in bed, but he and Scott found what works for them early on and they didn’t deviate much.

Scott hoists Mark’s leg higher around his hip and pushes in, and leans down to muffle Mark’s warbling groan. Their lips slide together carelessly, and both of them are talking nonsense, letting words and moans slip out between their mouths.

“Hm. Do you want to?”

He’s thought about it, of course he has, but… “No.”

He feels Mason grin. “Hm,” he says again. He grasps Mitch’s hips and presses against him, grinding his denim-clad cock against Mitch’s bare ass. The rough drag of fabric makes Mitch gasp and he drops his chin to his chest, blinking at the hardwood floor.

He wonders if Mason is going to fuck him. He wonders if he wants that. _Yes_.

But then Mason takes a step to the right and reaches around to lift Mitch’s head again, turning him slightly so they can make eye contact. His eyes are entrancing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers silkily. His fingers are gentle at the corner of Mitch’s jaw, carefully coaxing him to turn his neck at a sharper angle. “Should I be mad Scott hasn’t shared you with us until now?” He pushes his thumb against Mitch’s lower lip as if testing Mitch’s resistance. But Mitch doesn’t resist.

“I’m not his to share,” Mitch breathes.

“Are you not?”

Mitch swallows and says, “Not anymore.”

A smile flickers around Mason’s lips. “That’s right. Because he’s mine.” His hand slides down, lower around Mitch’s neck and squeezes, and his voice takes on a harder edge. “You could be too.” Mitch’s blood pounds, thunderously loud to his own ears, electrified by Mason’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, please—”

“Get on your knees.”

Like his strings have been cut, Mitch drops to the floor.

The impact hurts his knees but the pain is there and gone in an instant. Mason pushes at his shoulder, turning him, stepping in front of him, murmuring, “Let them see you, sweetheart,” and it’s only then that Mitch remembers Scott and Mark fucking on the couch only a few feet to his left. He doesn’t even spare them a glance.

Mason takes his cock out and strokes it a few times, tantalizingly close to Mitch’s watering mouth but not letting him have it yet. This is one thing Mitch has never done for an audience, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of shame or embarrassment. He wants to make it good for them, perform well for Mason.

“Put on a pretty show for them,” Mason tells him, then slides his hand through Mitch’s hair to cup the back of his head and drag him in close. He feeds his cock into Mitch’s waiting mouth and lets him go to work, using his hand only to guide. He’s much more gentle than Scott, and Mitch feels odd comparing them, but the differences between their displays of dominance fascinate him.

Mitch settles his hands on his own thighs and takes his time figuring out what Mason likes. He’s quieter than Scott, harder to read, especially harder to listen for when Scott and Mark are both making so much noise. Scott’s about to come, Mitch can hear it in the tightness of his voice and the frantic slap of skin against skin. Mark is the most vocal of all of them, but he’s been driven wordless by this point.

Mason’s fingers do the talking, Mitch quickly realizes. He clenches his hands, tightening his fist in Mitch’s hair when Mitch does something he really likes. He scratches gently, then harder. He rests his palm against Mitch’s jaw, presses his thumb into Mitch’s cheek to feel his cock inside Mitch’s mouth.

“Knew you’d be good at this,” he murmurs. “Beautiful.”

Mitch flutters his eyelashes, satisfaction and pride lighting a fire under him.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Mark says, sighing with appreciation. “Look at him.”

Scott’s breathless when he adds, “Harder, do it harder.”

“Yeah?” Mason asks. He rubs his thumb against the seam of Mitch’s lips, where his cock is sliding in and out.

“Please, I wanna see you fuck his throat,” Scott says. “He can take it.”

“Gimme your hand, sweetheart,” Mason says quietly. He holds out his right hand and Mitch reaches up with his left. Before he can make contact, Mason takes his wrist and directs Mitch’s hand to his hip. He presses down, silently urging Mitch to hold on, and Mitch understands with sudden clarity what this means. He draws his head back and takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes to center himself. He’s shuddering with anticipation, because Mason’s going to take Scott at his word.

Mitch opens his eyes and sees Mason staring down at him, his lips curled into a smirk.

“Scott.” Mason stretches his hand out and Scott unfolds from the couch, stalking over to them like a predatory cat. He takes Mason’s hand, and Mason pulls him around to stand behind Mitch, caging him in. He puts Scott’s hand on the crown of Mitch’s head.

Scott’s grip on his hair is familiar. Mason’s fingers, trailing down and dipping into his open mouth, are not. Mitch doesn’t close his lips around them. He keeps his jaw loose, lets Mason explore until he’s satisfied.

Mason doesn’t ask if he’s ready. He pushes his cock between Mitch’s lips and all the way to the back of his throat, and his expressive fingers dig into Mitch’s scalp as he holds Mitch still and fucks him, rough and hard, just as Scott said. He doesn’t give Mitch time to adjust to the depth of his thrusts, but he does give him breaks, pulls out and lets Mitch suck in a breath of air every few moments.

Until Scott gets tired of that and shoves Mitch’s head down, holds him there with unrelenting pressure, and Mitch gags and swallows and tears up and his hand spasms on Mason’s hip, but he doesn’t let go, and Scott doesn’t let go, and he’s rewarded with Mason’s guttural groan, “Fuck, yes, take it,” ground out through clenched teeth above him.

Scott lets him up, lets him breathe. Over the deafening pound of his heart, Mitch can hear kissing above him. Mason and Scott, probably. But no, because in the next moment, Scott’s voice is in his ears, murmuring filthy and low about how well Scott knows him, how Scott knows exactly how long he can hold his breath, how Scott knows exactly much he can take, exactly how much to push, how much he’s missed pushing, and then he pushes again and Mason fucks into Mitch’s throat and Mitch loses himself to their control, their manhandling.

Scott shoves him down again, holds him there until Mitch chokes, and then Mason’s pushing Scott’s hand away. Mitch coughs, gasping for air in the confined space between their bodies, but then Mason yanks Mitch by his hair, tilting his head all the way back, exposing his throat. Mitch feels the hot splash of come on the side of his jaw, down his neck, across his clavicles, and then Mason’s hands slip free of his hair.

Mitch leans back against Scott’s thigh, boneless and breathless. He blinks up at Mason with his hands on Scott’s face, his fingers tangled in Scott’s hair the way they were just tangled in Mitch’s a few seconds ago. They’re kissing—Mason is kissing Scott, and Scott is breaking for him, melting open and lax and submissive, and it’s strange to see.

Before Mitch can wonder where Mark has gotten to, Mark pushes him sideways, out from between the others’ legs, sending him sprawling on his back with his arms spread wide and his legs twisted half beneath him. The floor is cold under his shoulders but Mark is warm, so warm, so _hot_ on his chest, his tongue blazing a fiery path up Mitch’s sternum. He laps up the come splattered there and sucks the skin of Mitch’s collarbone between his teeth until Mitch can feel the bruise forming.

He does the same to the base of Mitch’s throat next, sucking another mark after he’s cleaned up every trace of Mason’s come. When he reaches Mitch’s jaw, Mark is gentle, licking and kissing only with soft lips, and Mitch wonders if that’s a rule for them, no visible bruises, because he’s never seen Scott with hickeys and both Mark and Mason are biters.

Then Mark’s hand closes around Mitch’s cock and Mitch nearly whites out from the sudden shock of being touched. His own arousal has faded from his awareness but not his body, and the throbbing ache of his cock returns to the forefront of his mind with the speed of a rocket. He slaps one hand down flat on the floor, curls his fingers for purchase that doesn’t exist, as his hips buck out of his control.

“That’s it, baby,” Mark says smoothly. “You did so fucking good, fucking hot on your knees, aren’t you, baby? I bet you’re fuckin’ dying to come, aren’t you?” He kisses Mitch, dipping his tongue briefly into Mitch’s mouth, biting at his swollen lips. “I can feel how much you need it,” he says. “Fuckin’ leaking all over my hand, baby, you’re so fucking desperate, aren’t you.”

“Oh, fuck, please, please, more,” Mitch gasps. His voice is rough as hell even to his own ears, and the reason for it makes him shudder and shake with need.

“Yeah, Mitch, beg for it, c’mon, that’s it.”

“I need—please, more, please—”

Mark kisses his cheek, his ear. He bites again, softly. “I know what you need,” he whispers. He’s lying half on top of Mitch, pinning him down, and he’s so firm, so toned and smooth and warm, and Mitch can’t resist reaching around his back, clawing at him the way Scott did earlier, high up between his shoulders.

There are hands on his knees, not Mark’s, because Mark’s are occupied. Mitch doesn’t really care whose they are. They spread his legs apart, which is fine, _good_ , but then they push Mark’s hand away from his cock, which is agony. Mitch whines and Mark kisses his face again, soothing, shushing him.

Instead of stroking him again, though, Mark slides his hand down between Mitch’s thighs and pushes two slick fingers against Mitch’s hole. He circles them gently, spreading the wetness around, pressing only hard enough to tease, and Mitch clutches at him desperately.

“Please, yes, please, please, pleasepleaseplease…”

Finally, Mark pushes in with one finger, sliding deep and withdrawing quickly. He comes back immediately with two and crooks them just so, rubbing firmly and sending a jolt like lightning through Mitch’s limbs.

“Open for me, baby. Love how much you need this,” Mark is saying urgently. “Bet you look so fucking good taking it. God, I wanna see that, wanna see you bent over with that little ass in the air, _fuck_. Is your ass as good as your mouth, baby? Bet you fuckin’ lose it when you’re being fucked, right? Bet you’d come without even being touched, just begging for cock, right? Wanna fuck you, baby, so fucking hard. I know what Scott’s like, I know what _you_ like, baby, I know how to give to you right.”

Suddenly there’s a mouth on Mitch’s cock, taking him all the way to the base and sucking hard, and he knows, he just _knows_ it’s Scott. Mitch lets his hand slide away from Mark’s back, from the bunching muscles in his arm, down to Scott’s soft, tangled hair. He clenches his fingers in it, just for something to hang onto as he comes, and Scott swallows every drop, keeps his lips sealed around Mitch’s cock while his body’s wracked with shudders and aftershocks.

When it starts to get too overwhelming, when Scott’s tongue swirling around the head of his cock starts feeling painful rather than pleasurable, Mitch twists his fingers and cries, “Shit, fuck, Scotty, please…”

Of course Scott doesn’t stop right away. He never does. Mark withdraws his fingers, though, and moves back enough to give Mitch space to breathe. Scott stays on him another moment and Mitch stops being able to identify different sensations. Everything’s just too much, zinging pain-pleasure-pain through his veins, twisting him into desperate knots inside.

The relief when Scott lets him go is almost like a second orgasm. He lets himself sprawl, completely spent and melting into the floor. His limbs feel heavy like they’re full of sand and he can’t even move when Scott crawls up over him, braces himself on his elbows on either side of Mitch’s head.

“Fuckin’ missed that,” he whispers as he brushes lips wet lips to Mitch’s open mouth. It’s not really a kiss, not yet. They’re sharing the same air, breathing each other in, almost joined but not quite. “Fuckin’ missed you.”

Scott’s voice is so quiet, so breathy, Mitch thinks the others can’t hear him. He wonders if that’s intentional. Familiar longing twists in his gut but he doesn’t have the energy to feel uneasy about it.

“Love you,” Mitch says, equally soft.

Scott kisses him then, a firm but all-too-brief press of lips sliding against lips. He brushes their noses together and breathes for a moment.

“Love you,” he answers.

Then he pushes himself up on his hands, follows through and sits up fully, straddling Mitch’s thighs. Mark is there, beside him, and helps him to his feet.

Mitch is too exhausted to move. He turns his head and sees Mason on the couch, still in his fucking jeans, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. He’s watching Mitch, curious and thoughtful, but smiling. As Scott approaches him, Mason reaches up and strokes Scott’s arm, turning his head a moment later as if taking his eyes off Mitch is a hardship. Mitch watches him cup the side of Scott’s face, watches Scott catch Mason’s hand and hold it while he turns to kiss Mason’s palm.

He’s never seen Scott look like this. It’s beautiful and fascinating and unsettling too, that there’s a whole facet to Scott that Mitch doesn’t _know_. He wants to know. He wants to know everything.

Scott sits at Mason’s feet, leans his head against his thigh, and they both turn their glittering eyes back to Mitch.

“Wanna come up here, sweetheart?” Mason asks.

“Can’t move yet,” Mitch replies.

“Well, this isn’t comfortable,” Mark says, and hoists Mitch into a sitting position.

“Ow,” Mitch says, but there’s nothing specific that hurts. He probably doesn’t even hurt at all. The wires are still crossed in his brain, and every ache feels like too much, but for the most part, he’s just tired. He wraps his arms around Mark’s neck and lets him lift him to his feet.

Mark deposits him on the couch to Mason’s right, with his head on the armrest and his legs draped over Mason’s lap, Scott’s head is within easy touching range, so Mitch rests his hand in Scott’s fluffy, thick hair. He combs through it, brushing out the snarls with his fingers until it’s smooth again.

Mark settles in on Mason’s other side and tosses a blanket over all three of them. Scott’ll be up off the floor soon to get a snack, like always, and they seem to know his post-coital habits. There’s no argument when Mark turns on the TV and starts flipping through the channels. Whatever he lands on will be fine. Mitch stares up at the screen and bites his swollen lips. It’s a miracle they haven’t bled.

Under the blanket, Mason squeezes Mitch’s ankle to get his attention. “You okay, beautiful?” he asks. Mitch nods. Uncertainty is creeping in at the edges of Mitch’s consciousness and he tries not to let it show on his face.

Scott reaches up and takes Mitch’s hand out of his hair. He squeezes gently and doesn’t let go. “You can sleep now, Mitchy.”

Mitch is already feeling the heavy pull on his eyelids, has been since he was spread-eagled on the floor. He lets the sound of the television wash over him, lets the warmth of shared body heat seep into him, lets Scott’s hand ground him. Lets himself drift off, confident they’ll get through whatever happens when he wakes up.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
